Friday, October 3, 2014

October 3rd

September 5

It was raining, we stood in muddy water at the edge of the rooms. I could see His feet with the nail scars. I threw my arms around Jesus and said that I loved Him, I loved Him, I loved Him and He said that I was His and that He would always be with me.

September 9

Jenny Lynn, Jesus said, when I was inclining my spirit to Him with all my swirling, anxious thoughts.

“Yes?” I asked, physically lifting my head and peeking upward, although there was nothing to be seen but what was physically there. I'd never heard Him call me with my middle name before.

Didn’t I teach you all that you know? Jesus reminded me.

“Yes,” I acknowledged. “You alone are my Teacher, for I have one teacher and He is You.”

I treasure that role and your trust in Me, Jesus assured me.

"But as it is written: ‘Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love him’. But God has, through the Spirit, let us share his secret.

"For nothing is hidden from the Spirit, not even the deep wisdom of God. For who could really understand a man’s inmost thoughts except the spirit of the man himself? How much less could anyone understand the thoughts of God except the very Spirit of God? And the marvellous thing is this, that we now receive not the spirit of the world but the Spirit of God himself, so that we can actually understand something of God’s generosity towards us."
-I Corinthians 2:9-12, Phillips

September 10

“You precious, You beloved,” I whispered in delight at being with Him.

It was painful, I had realized, to look at Jesus’ face and I hadn’t been, because each time I saw His amber brown eyes, I felt hurt and doubt. Instead I was looking over His shoulder or at His robe.

But I had seen a glimpse of His beard- textured, thick and something about that and the shape of His jaw and I felt this almost atavistic shock of recognition- that was my Beloved, my Friend. And deeper than that, my Creator, the Source of my being.

When I realized this, I remembered the innocent joy that I had taken in seeing Him before. I had delighted in His face, I had been elated to be able to see it, to recognize Jesus. I thought it was something beautiful, special, and that joy was gone now, replaced by a kind of tentative, wary acceptance.

I was saddened to recognize the extent of this loss. It was almost shocking, the contrast. I knew Jesus' sorrow also at this loss, and without words, He encouraged me to let the wary acceptance drop and to simply believe whole heartedly in Him again- not because I was literally seeing Jesus, but because seeing Him at all was a personal gift of relationship between Him and I, just like hearing His voice.

After that, I tried to look at Jesus directly and I saw again His high bridged, humped nose- so charmingly familiar to me. I was filled with such inexpressible love for Him.


"That is the humiliation of myth into fact, of God into Man; what is everywhere and always, imageless and ineffable, only to be glimpsed in dream and symbol and the acted poetry of ritual becomes small, solid- no bigger than a man who can lie asleep in a rowing boat on the Lake of Galilee. You may say that this, after all, is a still deeper poetry. I will not contradict you. The humiliation leads to a greater glory."

C.S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory"


We stood and I was asking Him eagerly about something I had read in Luke right before turning out the light- about how they could read the signs of the sky, but not the signs of the times. I wanted to know why Jesus had spoken so strongly.

Because it was vital for them to know, Jesus told me. He reminded me of the fall of Jerusalem, and how He had wept; because they had not known the things that make for peace- they had not recognized Him.

I remembered all the times Jesus said to them- pay attention! Actually follow My teachings, don't just call Me Lord. And how, in the old Testament, Yahweh declares that He has no pleasure in the death of a sinner, but would rather that they turn and live.

“If they had known You,” I breathed, filled with this kind of electric understanding, and Jesus was full of passionate anguish, His face full of intense feeling.

"You have been taught to love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I tell you this: love your enemies. Pray for those who torment you and persecute you— in so doing, you become children of your Father in heaven. He, after all, loves each of us—good and evil, kind and cruel. He causes the sun to rise and shine on evil and good alike. He causes the rain to water the fields of the righteous and the fields of the sinner. It is easy to love those who love you—even a tax collector can love those who love him. And it is easy to greet your friends—even outsiders do that! But you are called to something higher: “Be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect.” -Matthew 5:43-48

September 11


Do you see how the light is striking the branches from another angle? Jesus asked.

“Yes, I do see.” It was lovely, in fact, to see the branches that way. The light had changed with the seasons, and I was seeing into the same trees, but they looked new.

That’s My intent also in My church, Jesus explained. Your unique way of being with Me and in Me and sharing Me is one angle of light.

"Men have different gifts, but it is the same Spirit who gives them. There are different ways of serving God, but it is the same Lord who is served. God works through different men in different ways, but it is the same God who achieves his purposes through them all. Each man is given his gift by the Spirit that he may make the most of it." -I Corinthians 12:4-7

September 12th

I went to Jesus and remembered, in the same moment, “pour out your heart to Him, for God is our refuge,” (Psalm 62:) and so I did that, without words, all the hurts and the longings and the grief and I felt waves of His love, comfort and empathy wash through me straight from His heart, which was beating against mine.

“But on the other hand...” I said, trying to pull myself together to be cheerful and felt a check from Him- not to pretend or to put on my good face.

Don’t do that with Me, Jesus pleaded softly.

“No, not with You,” I breathed, slumping back down against Him in relief. “With You I simply pour out my heart."


"The process of establishing ourselves in a habitual state of compassionate love takes place in the context of countless failure to be compassionate.

"But this proves to be no hindrance as long as we commit ourselves to being compassionate toward ourselves in our failings to be compassionate. Even our failures to be compassionate prove to be but new opportunities . . .

"This process of yielding to compassionate love unfolds and deepens over a lifetime of learning that when all is said and done, love is the playing field where we most truly meet ourselves and others as we really are, precious in our collective frailty."

-James Finley, "The Contemplative Heart"


I was in the inner rooms with Him and I was desperate for the good soil of the garden and so I was there, kneeling between the rows and I fell forward and let my face fall into the soil and I let all my anxiety, tenseness, grief- everything, ease out. I breathed in, I breathed out, I let it flow out.

Then Jesus was beside me, kneeling down and He took my dirty hand in His and laced His fingers with mine. I could see the folds of His white robe as He knelt in the garden. I was drawn onto His lap and I wrapped my arms around His shoulders and let all the angst flow out into Him, like casting every deepest, unspeakable care into Him.

Then I remembered that I was with Jesus of Nazareth- the Prophet who had spoken such beautiful, demanding and difficult sayings.

“I’m in awe of You,” I admitted in a whisper, hunching down almost to hide.

Jenny, don’t be scared of Me, Jesus whispered, immediately, love and tenderness and reassurance pouring out of Him.

September 14

I saw myself offering my visions and my heart, on a silver tray with a braided edge. But the tray appeared to be empty.

“Why is the tray empty?” I asked Jesus.

Because what you are offering is of the Holy Spirit, He replied.

I stood at the edge of the inner rooms and saw the top field with the sheep there, and above them, the trees and above that, the farther hills. At the tops of the hills, I saw the cumulous clouds, great billows of them, but I knew they would grow higher.

Why do the clouds build up? Jesus asked me.

“Because of the heat and pressure and humidity which are building below and which is miserable to live with and everyone wants relief.” I answered, speaking only from observation- because it had been happening like that for days on end.

What happens when the storm breaks?

“The pressure is released and Your word falls down like rain and everything is made clear and refreshed and new things grow,” I answered, beginning to realize what His point was. “So what was making us miserable for a time was inevitably leading all along to a release and to good.”

Then it was raining and I put my hand in the rain that was dripping off the roof and saw how my hand became wet. Jesus took my hand in His much larger, rougher hand. I turned His hand over and saw His battered knuckles and callouses and the scar that goes straight through.